


Unstuck

by ominousunflower



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Marichat, Mention of injuries, enemies au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower
Summary: Chat Noir, notorious supervillain of Paris, experiences a wardrobe malfunction in the best and worst possible place: Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony.Heart pounding, Chat pins Marinette’s wrists to the balcony. She stares up at him, her blue eyes kaleidoscopic from the lights hanging overhead, her features twisted into a scowl.“Why are you trying to take my Miraculous?” Chat hisses.“Because—you—I—” Marinette splutters, her eyes dipping down below Chat’s face. “Why is your suitunzipped?”“I—well…” Chat sighs. “My zipper got stuck.”
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 156
Kudos: 1044





	Unstuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [j_majka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_majka/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Janai! I somehow found time to write a birthday fic for once 😂 This got out of control and ended up being over 8k, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **Note:** This is an Enemies AU, and they’re both in university here! I like to think that they got their Miraculouses during lycée in this universe, so Chat Noir has been fighting against Ladybug for a few years at this point (and Adrien never went to public school). Also, heads-up that there's a brief part where Chat tends to his injuries, but there's nothing graphic.

Chat Noir curses as he lands on the sloped roof of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, his claws scrabbling on the shingles for purchase. For a breathless second, he starts to slide down, and his feet pedal uselessly above the ground—but then, with a wince, he manages to haul himself onto the flat part of the roof.

Panting, he sits with his back to the brick wall. Pain throbs across his chest where an out-of-control akuma sliced him several times, and bruises from sparring with Ladybug litter his back and arms. Weariness tugs at his mind, tempting him to doze off—except his skin winces from the wounds, begging to be treated first.

Sighing, Chat grabs the first aid kit he keeps stored on the rooftop and stands up. He hisses in pain as he moves, a sharp stab reminding him that he rolled his ankle during battle. With tears stinging his eyes, he limps across the roof and drops down onto the balcony below.

Instantly, he sinks to the ground, basking in the rosy glow of the fairy lights. Sweet scents tickle his nose: roses, geraniums, mint, some other plants he can’t name.

His mother always loved gardening. She would know what the other plants are called.

Chat takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the balcony railing. This part of the city is always quiet and calm—except when there’s an akuma attack, of course. Below, the Seine glitters dark and cold, and even though Chat can’t see the stars in the sky, the strings of colorful lights are just as comforting.

And somewhere in the bakery below, he knows there’s a kind, warm family: one of thousands in Paris who don’t deserve the terror he and his father inflict on them.

Sighing, Chat flips open the first aid kit and sets it on the ground beside him, then carefully pulls down the zipper of his suit. The cool evening air stings against the scrapes and cuts on his chest, but at this point, he doesn’t even notice the pain.

He’s used to it by now.

Chat isn’t sure if Ladybug knows that her Miraculous Cure doesn’t quite heal him each time—whether it’s intentional, or just a karmic punishment for him misusing his Miraculous. Whenever he’s zapped from existence, she always brings him back; the cuts and bruises, however, remain.

He hopes it’s something she can’t control. He doesn’t want to think that someone kind like her wants him to suffer.

Done pondering, Chat gets to work. His ears will detect if Marinette Dupain-Cheng is on her way to the balcony—he can hear the tap of her feet on the stairs, the slight squeak of her mattress as she climbs onto it. He’s had a few close calls in the past, but he always manages to disappear before she sees him.

It’s probably a little stupid to patch up his wounds on a civilian’s balcony.

It’s also probably a little stupid to be a supervillain. Chat has never made the best decisions.

Of course, he didn’t pick this balcony randomly; he knows Marinette. They’d first met as teenagers when she won a Gabriel contest, and now, Chat sees her a few times a week in a university class they share. They’re not close, but she always smiles and says hello when she sees him, which never fails to make his heart flutter.

Along with being kind, Marinette is incredibly talented. Chat would love to model her clothes one day—except there’s a fifty-percent chance he’ll be in prison before she graduates, so he supposes he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

Chat’s skin stings as he pours bottled water over the cuts on his chest, flushing them out. He grits his teeth as he accepts the inevitable: his chest is going to hurt like hell for the next week.

He’s just glad he doesn’t have to do fencing anymore. He enjoyed the sport enough—but he didn’t enjoy sparring with injuries and faking excuses for why he looked like he was in pain.

Pinching a butterfly stitch, Chat presses the thin adhesive strip next to the first wound and tugs it across. He repeats the process along the rest of the cut, closing it the best he can. (There’s something ironic, really, about using butterfly bandages to heal the damage done by their corrupted namesakes.)

Chat’s eyes fall on the needle tucked in the kit, along with nylon thread, which he’s only had to use twice. “Isn’t that nice, Marinette?” Chat murmurs, applying another butterfly stitch. “I sew, too.” 

Marinette.

Is it silly, to envy her life so much? A warm bakery, a loving family, no father digging his nails into her shoulders, steering her to hurt innocent people?

 _We’re not really hurting them,_ Gabriel always says. _This will all be undone once we get your mother back._

But it won’t. Because Chat will remember all the pain they inflicted, all the fear they caused. _That_ won’t be undone.

Or maybe he’ll forget, once Gabriel makes the wish.

Chat doesn’t think he deserves to forget.

Chat cleans and bandages the rest of his cuts, then closes the first aid kit. He’ll need to sneak an ice pack out of the freezer later, once his father is asleep; he doesn’t think the ache from the bruise on his shoulder will go away otherwise.

(He’s learned not to let his father glimpse his injuries—that only leads to conversations about Chat’s weaknesses, his failings, the fact that he leaves fights with bruises instead of with Ladybug’s Miraculous.)

Sore, Chat stands and stretches his arms above his head. Then he slips the suit back over his shoulders, reaches down, and pulls on the zipper at his waist.

It doesn’t budge.

Frowning, Chat tugs again. As a model, he’s encountered stuck zippers before—but never a _magical_ stuck zipper.

His fingers pinch uselessly at the fabric, trying to pull it away from the zipper. It’s no use, though. The black cloth is skintight, magically painted on, and it won’t cooperate.

Jaw clenched, Chat yanks harder at the zipper, despite knowing that it won’t do any good. Why isn’t it working? He’s unzipped his suit for first aid countless times, and never before has he been trapped with a bare chest.

Muscles straining, he gives the zipper a mighty tug—and promptly trips from his hurt ankle, elbow flying into one of the potted plants on the balcony. Before he can catch it, it crashes to the floor, ceramic clattering into several pieces.

Chat yelps and jumps back from the broken pieces, tripping over a stool in the process. He teeters, arms flailing, and then falls over with a loud _thunk._

All this, from a zipper? Chat knew he had the power of destruction, but he didn’t know that capability extended to the embellishments on his suit.

He clambers to his feet, calf throbbing where it hit the stool. He needs to grab the first aid kit and leave before—

The trapdoor swings open, and Marinette’s body shoots through the opening as a pink and white blur. She slams into Chat, making pain flare in his chest, and they topple to the ground.

Growling, Marinette grabs Chat’s wrist and reaches for his ring finger, her grip surprisingly strong. Instinct takes over, and Chat rolls to the side, flipping them so that Marinette is beneath him.

Heart pounding, he pins her wrists to the balcony. Marinette stares up at him, her blue eyes kaleidoscopic from the lights hanging overhead, her features twisted into a scowl. Chat worries that she’ll scream for help, but she simply stares up at him, chest heaving.

There’s no fear in her eyes.

“Why are you trying to take my Miraculous?” Chat hisses.

Because that’s the thing he’s hung up on: why would a civilian try to take on _Chat Noir,_ one of the most dangerous people in Paris? He’d known Marinette was brave, but she never struck him as stupid.

“Because—you—I—” Marinette splutters, her eyes dipping down below Chat’s face. “Why is your suit _unzipped?”_

“That’s what you notice?” Chat says. His face burns, and his grip on her wrists starts to loosen—but then she starts trying to wriggle free, and his fingers tighten again.

“So?” Marinette asks.

“I—well…” Chat sighs. “My zipper got stuck.”

“Your zipper…” Marinette’s eyes narrow, and then they fly wide. “You’re hurt!”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Chat asks. “Aren’t villains supposed to get hurt?”

“I—no!” Marinette sighs, then nudges Chat with her foot. “Also, get off me. Um, please.”

“So polite,” Chat teases.

He can’t help it—he’s used to bantering with the mask on, thanks to his fights with Ladybug. It’s one of the only things he does that Paris seems to enjoy: prompting fiery retorts, lobbing witty comebacks.

And Chat can’t deny that he enjoys the banter, too. Their back-and-forths are the only time that he can pretend they’re on the same side.

 _You’re supposed to be,_ Chat’s conscience reminds him. _The Ladybug and the Black Cat are meant to be a team._

“I can still knee you where it hurts, you know,” Marinette says, pouting.

Chat resists the urge to coo at her cute expression—which is, incidentally, less cute when she’s threatening to knee him in the balls. “R-right. Sorry.” He quickly releases her wrists and clambers back, creating as much space between them as possible.

Marinette frowns, massaging one of her wrists. “So…”

“Did I hurt you?” Chat blurts out. “I’m sorry, I just—you were trying to take my Miraculous, so I moved instinctively, and, um…”

“You saved me,” Marinette says.

Chat’s mind fumbles with the words, trying to make sense of them. “I—what? When?”

Still scowling, Marinette pushes herself to her feet and leans against the brick wall of the balcony. “You…a few weeks ago. You saved me from an akuma.”

Now, with warming cheeks, Chat realizes what she’s talking about: how, in the middle of an akuma attack, Chat knocked Marinette out of the way, cradling her against his chest as they fell to the ground.

They’d stared at each other with wide eyes for a moment, while Chat’s heart raced in his chest—and then he’d shoved her away and fled, hoping no one saw what happened.

Embarrassed, Chat latches onto the fact that Marinette is in pajamas—a loose pair of pink pants with hamsters on them, and a white tank top that _might_ be see-through, except he looks away before he can find out. “I—um—I like your pajamas.”

Marinette squints at him. “What?”

“Oh. Uh. Hamsters. Very cute.” Chat hides his face in his hands, skin burning with a blush. “I mean…”

This is all wrong. He’s allowed to be a _bit_ playful as Chat Noir—the best villains always tease a little—but he isn’t supposed to be a blushing, stuttering mess. What is it about Marinette, that makes him trip over himself?

“Are you a cosplayer?” Marinette asks, her voice pitching up at the end. “I mean—you’re not—are you _really_ Chat Noir?”

Chat glares at her between his fingers. “How else would I have gotten on your balcony?”

“Parkour?”

Chat barks out a laugh. “I’m the real deal, I’m afraid.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Marinette nods. Chat sits, body tense, fingers itching to grab his first aid kit—but he doesn’t want to startle her with any sudden movements, so he doesn’t.

His belt tail, however, twitches restlessly at his side, metal buckle clanking against the balcony.

“Are you nervous?” Marinette asks.

“N-no,” Chat says. “I just…feel bad for barging in on you like this! I mean, you were clearly getting ready for bed, and I…” His eyes fall to the shattered ceramic on the ground, surrounded by dirt and a sad looking plant. “I killed one of your plants! I’m so sorry, I—uh—I can buy you a new one, or—”

“It’s fine,” Marinette says, her words slow. “I can repot it.” She points at Chat’s chest. “Why are you hurt? That’s not from the akuma attack, is it?”

“It is, yes.”

“What?” Marinette takes a step toward him. “But—but Ladybug’s Miraculous Cure—”

“Doesn’t work on me,” Chat says. “I mean, it brings me back from the dead. Cuts and bruises, though…”

“And your boss gets away without a scratch,” Marinette mutters. “Isn’t that right?”

“Uh, well—yes? I suppose.” Chat feels his ears flatten against his head. “You’re not trying to get information out of me while I’m half-naked and vulnerable, are you? I won’t stand for that, you know.”

“What are you going to do?” Marinette asks. “Hiss? Swat me with one of your paws?”

Chat’s nose wrinkles. “I wield the power of destruction.”

“Don’t all cats?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I am?” Marinette says. “You’re the guy in a tight leather suit with cat ears and a tail.”

“The tail is functional!” Chat protests.

But his tail swishes back and forth, as if to say, _Look at me! Aren’t I an adorable accessory?_

“Sure,” Marinette says, her lips twitching toward a smile. “Very functional.”

Truth be told, Chat’s tail hurts more than it helps. Countless times, Ladybug has nearly caught him by yanking on his tail—and on one occasion, she even swiped it from him for a Lucky Charm solution. (Thank goodness the tail belt doesn’t hold his pants up.) 

Blushing, Chat grabs the tail and holds it in his lap. “Okay,” he says, “so maybe it doesn’t do much. But Ladybug used it with a Lucky Charm once! That’s useful.”

“For _her,”_ Marinette says. “But you’re her enemy.”

“Right.” Chat sniffs. “Well, either way, you have to admit—I wear the suit pretty well, don’t I?”

“You—w-well, I—um…” Marinette crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re not really _wearing_ half of it right now, are you?”

Chat groans. “I told you, the zipper is stuck.”

“And do you always go to random girls’ balconies when your zipper gets stuck?”

“You’re not a random—I mean, I—I…”

“So you _wanted_ me to see your bare chest?”

“No!” Chat says. He hugs his arms to himself, doing his best to cover the bare skin. “But—but you’re not complaining, are you?”

For a moment, Marinette is silent, and the situation sinks in. She’s a civilian with a supervillain sitting on her balcony, and he’s asking her if she enjoys looking at his bare chest…what is he _thinking?_ She’s probably terrified right now! Chat is in an unfair position of power, and—and—

And Marinette is giggling.

“I—I’m sorry,” she says, laughing as Chat tilts his head to the side. “It’s just, I was trying to figure out why a _supervillain_ would be on my balcony, and—of all the explanations that went through my head…” She doubles over. “Your zipper is stuck. A-and now you’re asking me if I find you attractive.”

“Well,” Chat grumbles, “I guess that means your answer is no.”

Inhaling deeply, Marinette straightens. “My answer is _no comment._ Um…” She wipes a tear from her eye. “I guess I shouldn’t laugh. This is serious.”

“Seriously embarrassing, maybe.” Slowly, Chat gets to his feet, holding up his hands in surrender. “You know what? I’ll just go home like this. It’s better than the humiliation of—”

“Wait,” Marinette says. She takes another step forward, and another, until she’s standing right in front of Chat. “You, um…why are you hurt? Why didn’t Ladybug’s Miraculous Cure work?”

Her hand hovers just in front of Chat’s chest, fingers centimeters from his bare skin. Even though she isn’t touching him, his skin tingles from the proximity.

He clears his throat. “I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t want it to.”

Marinette’s eyes go wide. “Of course I—I mean—I’m sure she does! Even if you’re her enemy…um…she doesn’t want you to be injured.”

Chat squints at Marinette. The way she paused after the word _enemy_ —there’s a question behind the word.

“You want to know why I’m one of the bad guys,” Chat says.

One of Marinette’s teeth digs into her bottom lip. “Well, I mean…doesn’t everyone?”

“What do you think?” Chat asks. “What’s my evil plan?”

“I don’t think it’s an evil plan,” Marinette says. “I think you’re probably doing a bad thing for a good reason. And I also think you’re being used by your boss.”

Chat’s lips stretch, baring his teeth. “You don’t know anything.”

Eyes glinting with a challenge, Marinette tilts her chin up. She must be cold, barely dressed in the evening chill, but she doesn’t even shiver. “Am I wrong?”

Chat stares at her. He doesn’t think Marinette would ask just to mock him. At the same time, he’s not sure she’ll really understand.

“I have a good reason,” he says. “But—but Le Papillon isn’t _using_ me. He…I…we want the same thing.”

Marinette’s fingers brush a bandage on his chest, the light pressure sending a shiver down Chat’s spine. “I guess I have to take your word for it,” she murmurs. “But—if he lets you walk away with bruises, while he’s unscathed…” Her fingers brush featherlight against the purple skin above his ribs, and Chat winces. “That’s certainly not a partnership.”

“What,” Chat says, voice shaking slightly. “Do you want to be my partner instead?”

Strangely, Marinette’s lips twist in a smile. “I might like that,” she says. “But not if you keep fighting against Ladybug.”

“You…would?” Chat hates how his voice cracks on the second word, as if he’s going through puberty all over again. “But I’m…”

“Hurt,” Marinette says firmly. “And your zipper is stuck.” Her eyes trail down Chat’s chest, and he feels like he’s burning under her gaze. “Um, I can’t fix that first problem. The zipper, though…”

She reaches down and pinches it between her fingers, then gives it an experimental tug.

“Ah,” Chat says. “That—that’s a little, um—close to…”

Forehead wrinkled, Marinette peers up at him. “Is it pinching your skin?”

“No, no!” Chat says, blushing. “But, well, um…never mind.” Grimacing, he shuts his eyes. “Do your worst.”

“Hm.” Marinette pokes Chat’s suit. “Can’t you detransform, or something? This suit is magic, right?”

“I—well—maybe,” Chat says, though he shudders to think of the jammed zipper carrying over to his civilian clothes. What if he gets stuck in the skinny jeans he was wearing earlier? “But I’m not doing that in front of you.”

He opens his eyes and finds Marinette peering up through her eyelashes, a smirk on her lips. “Don’t trust me?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“That’s fair.” Marinette sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t trust you, either.”

“Do you?” Chat asks. He thinks he sounds a bit too hopeful. “I mean, uh…are you that easily swayed by a muscled chest?”

“Your chest? No.” Marinette smooths a hand down the fabric, frowning. “The fact that you saved my life, and that you seem to hate your job as a supervillain? That’s a bit more persuasive.”

“I don’t…”

Chat can’t even finish his sentence. After all, the days when there aren’t any akuma attacks are always his favorite—when he can lie on the couch, and surf Instagram, and pretend that he doesn’t use his free time terrorizing the city.

Unlike his father, he never managed to convince himself that they’re good people. Because they’re not. Good people don’t make children cry, or force every person in the city to sleep with one eye open.

Chat squeezes his eyes shut again, shutting away burning tears. One slips out and rolls down his cheek, and he holds his breath, praying Marinette won’t notice.

He doesn’t want to hurt people. He’s _never_ wanted that. But it wasn’t until someone looked at him and realized that he doesn’t want it—until someone saw that maybe, despite it all, Chat could be a good person—that the weight of the situation hit him.

Alone in the mansion, with no one but Gabriel and Nathalie for company, Chat can pretend that he’s not doing anything wrong. Here, though, with Marinette, he’s forced to confront the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Chat mutters. He knows more tears could fall, if he opened his eyes—and so he doesn’t, stubbornly trying to keep them at bay.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marinette says, and Chat wonders if she even knows what he’s apologizing for. Obviously not, or she wouldn’t be so casual about it.

A warm hand cups his cheek, finger wiping away the tear trail. Chat’s eyes fly open, allowing another tear to fall, and his eyes lock with Marinette’s. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she says, still cupping his face. “You’d rather be the good guy.”

“I can’t do that,” Chat mumbles. He turns his head away, forcing Marinette to drop her hand. “So…do you have any ideas for this zipper?”

Marinette is silent for a moment, and he expects her to argue. Instead, he feels warm fingers brushing his stomach, slipping inside his suit to feel the zipper from the other side.

“Whoa!” Chat says. “Uh, wh-what—what exactly are you doing?”

Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Trying to feel if there’s any fabric caught in the teeth?”

“As long as that’s all you’re feeling,” Chat says, cheeks heating. “But, um, for the record, I flossed this morning, so I don’t think you’ll find any fabric in my teeth.” Closing his eyes, he gives a wide, cheeky grin. “See?”

When he opens his eyes, Marinette is staring at him, unimpressed. “Nice fangs.” She goes back to feeling around the zipper, her knuckles brushing Chat’s stomach every once in a while. “This doesn’t hurt, does it? Sorry. I know you have bruises.”

“I—uh…I’m fine.”

Sighing, Marinette withdraws her hand. “I can’t feel anything. Um…hold on. I’ll be right back.”

Frowning, Chat watches as Marinette turns and darts back through her trapdoor, leaving him alone on the roof.

“Okay,” Chat mutters, as the night air tickles his chest. “This is normal.”

This isn’t normal.

He could just leave. He’s already said too much, and compromised his reputation as an intimidating supervillain—although it seems like Marinette was never afraid of him to begin with.

Why does she seem so comfortable around him?

Marinette pops back through the trapdoor a few minutes later, a pink pencil in her hand. “Here we go!” she says, smiling. She seems completely at ease, as if it’s every day that a supervillain crashes on her balcony and needs help zipping up his suit. “Sometimes the pencil trick works, when you can’t unjam the fabric with your fingers.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Chat blurts out, as Marinette comes to stand in front of him.

“What?” Marinette asks, leaning toward his zipper. “Let me see…” With steady hands, she moves the pencil’s graphite tip back and forth across the zipper teeth. “Why do you think I’m scared of you? I’m up close and personal, aren’t I?”

“W-well, yes,” Chat says. He watches as Marinette works on the zipper, her brow scrunched in concentration. “I guess my question is…why _aren’t_ you afraid of me?”

“You’ve never hurt me,” Marinette says. She sticks the pencil between her teeth and grabs the zipper, giving it a light tug. “Damn it.” Without warning, she reaches inside the suit again, fingers uselessly feeling the fabric. “And you seem nice. And, um…I’ve always kind of thought that you were different from Le Papillon.”

“Mm.” Chat grits his teeth, trying to ignore the fact that Marinette’s fingers are innocently wandering in dangerous territory. “Well, I admit, my costume _is_ more inspired than his.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Marinette says, “although, you do get points for costume design.” She flicks the zipper. “It would’ve been cuter with a bell, though.”

“I don’t want to be _cute.”_

“Well, you are.” Marinette smirks, and Chat gets the feeling she’s teasing him. “Alright. This calls for something stronger.”

“Breaking out the whiskey?”

Marinette snorts. “No. But I need a lubricant.” She crosses over to the open trapdoor. “One second.”

Chat stares at her, eyes wide. “You need _what?”_

“Lubri—not like that!” Marinette squawks. Face darkening, she chucks her pencil at Chat, and it bounces harmlessly off his chest.

“Ow,” he says.

Marinette gasps. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I forgot you were injured! Did I stab you? Is it bleeding? Did I reopen a wound?”

Chat can’t help but cackle. “Marinette, I’m fine. But you know, you shouldn’t throw sharp objects. You could poke someone’s eye out.”

“Well, _you_ shouldn’t make suggestive comments to people who are trying to help you.”

“You’re blaming me?” Chat says. “You groped me and then said _that!_ What was I supposed to think?”

“Soap!” Marinette says. “I’m getting soap! And once I’m done with the zipper, maybe I should use it to wash out your mouth.” 

“Who calls soap a lubricant?” Chat cries.

“People trying to fix zippers!”

Muttering to herself, Marinette hops through the trapdoor and slams it shut behind her.

“I wasn’t trying to be dirty!” Chat says.

At least Plagg isn’t here to mock him. He’s never been particularly bothered by Chat Noir’s villainous exploits—says it’s a _nice change of pace_ and _fun to piss off Tikki_ —but he also never passes up an opportunity to make fun of his holder.

Chat stands, tense and blushing, until Marinette returns carrying a bar of soap, a tub of petroleum jelly, and a spray bottle of window cleaner.

“This looks like a Lucky Charm solution,” Chat jokes.

Marinette instantly trips, and all three items go flying across the balcony.

Chat dives forward and catches Marinette by the elbows. Knees buckled, she braces her hands against his chest, and Chat wonders if the pink hue in her cheeks is just from the lighting.

“Careful,” he says.

“Sorry,” Marinette says to his chest. “I…” She trails off, eyebrows drawing together. “You have so many scars.”

“Y-yeah, well…” Chat gingerly helps her to her feet, then lets go of her arms. “Who needs a perfect beach bod, anyway?”

“I…think you’ve still got that covered.” Clearing her throat, Marinette grabs the soap and jar of petroleum jelly and sets them on the balcony table.

Chat picks up the spray bottle and gives it an experimental spritz. “Planning to spray me next time I misbehave?”

Marinette snorts. “I’ll have a water bottle ready next time. But, no. I don’t want to get that in your eyes.”

“Aw,” Chat says, batting his eyes. “You care.”

Marinette snatches the bottle from his hand and sets it on the balcony table. “Okay. Any of these things should work. Do you have a preference?”

Chat eyes the tub of petroleum jelly suspiciously. “Soap, I guess.” 

“Speaking of,” Marinette says, as she grabs the ivory bar. “You cleaned your wounds, right?”

“Before you showed up,” Chat says. “I, um—I was actually doing first aid here.”

“On my balcony?”

“Yes?” Chat says, cringing. “It’s quiet, and pretty, and, um…it’s on my way home…”

_And even though you barely know me, I consider you a friend, and feel slightly less alone when I lurk above your bedroom._

“I’ve never noticed you,” Marinette murmurs.

“Usually I’m quieter.”

“Um…” Marinette hesitates, then starts rubbing the bar of soap around the zipper. The scent of vanilla and oatmeal wafts to Chat’s nose, and he inhales deeply. “If you ever want help with the wounds…I tend to get cuts and scrapes pretty often, so…” She ducks her head. “I know you can handle it yourself, but if it’s easier for me to do it…”

Chat stares down at her, stunned. Unbidden, he imagines her hands gently wiping his skin and bandaging his wounds. He’s sure her touch would be soft. Hypnotizing, even. Even now, watching her work on the zipper, he feels like he’s being lulled into a trance.

“Why…” Chat shakes his head. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m helping you with a stuck zipper,” Marinette mumbles. “That’s not the same as inviting you inside for tea and pastries.”

“Would you?” Chat asks curiously.

Marinette glances up, and her eyes dart around Chat’s face. “I—not inside,” she says. “But on the balcony…maybe.”

“Th-that…would be nice. I don’t usually get to do things like that.”

Marinette pauses. “You never eat with friends or family?”

Chat shrugs. “Hard to let people get close when you’re a bad person.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette says, back to rubbing the soap around the zipper. “I’m pretty close right now.”

She is. Chat could touch her hair, if he moved his hands just slightly. He could wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, if he weren’t keeping his arms rigid at his sides. Marinette smells like vanilla and fruit and something else Chat can’t quite place, except that it’s sweet and makes him want to melt into her arms.

_Vanilla._

“I—uh…” Blushing, Chat points at the bar of soap. “Is that from your shower?”

“What?” Marinette holds up the soap and squints at Chat. “This? No. I use body wash.” A grin stretches her lips. “Why are you thinking about that?”

Chat’s face burns hotter than before. “W-well, it smells like vanilla, and you smell like vanilla, so, um, I…just…wanted to make sure you’re not wasting your personal soap on my zipper!”

“It’s not a waste,” Marinette says. She sets the soap on the table, then pinches the zipper between her fingers. “And now…” She gives it a light tug, and nothing happens. “Um…”

“Maybe…pull harder?”

Bracing her free hand against Chat’s abdomen, Marinette tugs more forcefully on the zipper, but it refuses to move. “Huh.”

“It’s fine,” Chat says. “I, uh…guess nothing is working. Sorry. This has never happened before.”

Marinette places her hands on her hips. “I’m not giving up yet!” She turns back to the table. “Let’s try the window cleaner.”

Despite Marinette’s best efforts, though, nothing seems to work on Chat’s zipper. The window cleaner has no effect, besides making the air smell significantly less vanilla-y, and the petroleum jelly only succeeds in making Marinette’s fingers slippery.

Sighing, Marinette experimentally tugs downward on the zipper. “Maybe—”

“Whoa!” Chat says, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Let’s not do that.”

“I didn’t know if it would work the other direction!”

“If it does, we’re not finding out.” Chat huffs and flops onto the ground, legs sprawled out in front of him. “At this point, I don’t even care about getting it zipped back up. I just want to know how a magical zipper gets stuck in the first place.”

“Maybe it’s a metaphor.” Laughing, Marinette sits cross-legged in front of him. “Want me to be your therapist?”

“You’d better charge a lot,” Chat mutters. “I’ve got issues.”

“I figured.”

They’re both silent, then—and for a strange moment, Chat considers opening up to Marinette. Even if her life is completely different from his, it seems like she would understand him. She’s already forgiven him for trespassing on her balcony, and she doesn’t seem to be scared of him like the rest of Paris is.

“I shouldn’t talk about it,” Chat says.

“I think you should,” Marinette says. “And…I’m listening, if you do.”

“I guess I just…want someone to understand,” Chat says. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “I hate fighting against Ladybug. I can tell she’s a good person, and—I think you’re right. She wouldn’t want me to be injured.” He clenches his jaw. “She’s just protecting the city, and I make her life miserable.”

“Maybe you liven up her day,” Marinette offers. “What’s life without a bit of excitement?”

“I’m the wrong kind of excitement.” Chat sighs. “But I, um…I’ve sometimes wondered, if…”

He trails off, swallowing the words on his tongue. This is something he’s never said to anyone—not to Plagg, or even himself when he’s alone.

Why is it so easy to talk to Marinette? Is Chat just that desperate for affection and understanding? Or is it something about those bright eyes, that kind smile, those delicate hands, that lets her reach in and pull out his secrets like splinters?

“Le Papillon is—he—he’s my father,” Chat says, voice shaking slightly. “And he wants to use the Miraculouses to bring my mother back, and I…how can I…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “How can I go against that? I’d do anything to see her again. But…”

Marinette waits silently—so silent, in fact, that it’s almost like she’s disappeared. But Chat can still smell her, and feel her heat in the space next to him. He knows she hasn’t left.

“Sometimes I wish he would do something bad,” Chat says. “That—that sounds stupid. He’s already done bad things. But I mean, sometimes I wish he’d do something—completely reprehensible—just so I’d have an excuse to…” He bows his head, hot tears leaking from his eyes. “So I’d have an excuse to turn against him.”

His lips wobble, and he sniffs, more tears sliding down his cheeks.

“Chat Noir,” Marinette whispers.

“I’ve had dreams,” Chat continues, as snot runs from his nose. “Wh-where he—kills someone, or something—and I join Ladybug, and we stop him, and…” He curls into the smallest ball he can, body trembling. “And I don’t even feel bad when I wake up. Those aren’t nightmares. They’re good dreams.”

The balcony is warm, with glowing lights and cozy decorations—but here, in this moment, Chat feels cold and empty. It doesn’t feel like his suit is unzipped to reveal skin. It feels like his chest is gaping open, just a hollow shell, all his darkness and failings exposed to Marinette.

“I’m horrible,” he mutters, tasting tears and mucus on his lips. “I’ve terrorized this entire city to get what I want—but I’d happily turn against my father, too—so I—I just betray people and hurt them. Who’s to say I wouldn’t turn on Ladybug, eventually? How can anyone trust me?”

Suddenly, arms wrap around him, pulling him against something soft and warm.

_Marinette._

She’s hugging him, her fingers sifting through his hair, stroking his neck. Her arms hold Chat tightly against her, like she _wants_ him there, like she won’t let go—and he collapses, desperately clinging to her.

“I trust you,” Marinette whispers.

Chat lets out a sob, claws digging into the thin fabric of her shirt. His world narrows to the two of them: his own cries, and Marinette’s murmured assurances, and all the places their bodies are touching.

 _Why?_ he tries to say, but words don’t work. They come out as gasps, stutters, and he holds her tighter, breath quickening.

“Deep breaths,” Marinette murmurs. “Breathe.”

He tries, and tries—and eventually, he does. The breaths are shallow at first, but they grow deeper as the energy drains out of him, until he’s limp and drowsy in Marinette’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks.

He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for: crying in her arms, or breaking her pot, or terrorizing Paris. All he knows is that regret is eating at him like an acid, and he half-expects his suit to dissolve off his skin.

“I forgive you,” Marinette says, her voice firm—and Chat crumples into tears again, burying his face against her shoulder.

No one has ever said that to him. No one has had the _chance,_ really. But hearing the words heals him in a painful way, like alcohol burning a cut.

 _Thank you,_ Chat mouths against Marinette’s bare shoulder, because he can’t get the words to leave his throat.

Marinette’s fingers keep petting his hair, and he goes boneless against her. “Chat Noir,” she says. “I can’t tell you what to do. But you don’t need to wait for an excuse. If you—if you think that what your father is doing is wrong—that’s enough. And I…I think Ladybug has probably been waiting for you, so…if you tell her even a fraction of what you told me, she’ll trust you.”

“Will she?” Chat whispers. He wants to believe Marinette—but also, how can she possibly know? Maybe Ladybug isn’t as forgiving as everyone thinks. “I’ve hurt her, and—and what if the Miraculous Cure doesn’t work on _her?_ I could never forgive myself if…if she’s…”

“It does!” Marinette says. “I—I mean, I’m sure it does. I’ve never seen her limp away from a fight! And I’ve seen her heal some of her worst injuries!” 

“I guess you have,” Chat murmurs. “I always see you near akuma attacks. You should stop putting yourself in danger.”

“Why would I stop, when I have a brave knight to save me?”

Chat leans back and peers into Marinette’s eyes. They shine in the light, and he thinks he might see tear trails on her cheeks. “Me?”

“That was a pretty daring rescue the other day.”

“I’m not a knight,” Chat says, cheeks burning.

“Maybe not yet,” Marinette says. “But you could be.”

Despite his heavy heart, Chat smiles. “Would that make me a _chat-velier?”_

Marinette laughs, eyes sparkling. The sound is warm, bending the air around Chat in another embrace. “I guess you would be.”

Chat laughs, a grin pulling at his lips. “I—I…” The smile fades. “I don’t think it’s that easy.”

“None of this is,” Marinette says. “I, um…I don’t know much about superpowers, or hero stuff. It all seems complicated. But I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“What if I don’t join Ladybug?” Chat asks. “What if I keep fighting against her? Would you still…what would you…”

“I’m here for you regardless.”

Chat’s nose wrinkles. “You can’t mean that.”

“Why not?” Marinette says. “Chat Noir, you’re in a horrible position. You have to choose between your family and your morals. That wouldn’t be an easy decision for anyone.” She brushes a piece of hair out of his face. “How could I judge you for making a decision I’ve never had to make?”

Chat stares. And stares. This all feels like a too-good dream—because how could someone as wonderful as Marinette trust him and support him, after all the things he’s done?

He blinks away fresh tears. Marinette’s soft smile stirs something in his heart: warm, glowing, an emotion long buried by guilt and fear. 

“Thank you,” Chat says. “Really, I…thank you.”

Marinette pats his head. “You don’t need to thank me.” Her hand trails down to Chat’s bare collarbone. “Especially since I didn’t fix the zipper.”

“It’s fine.” Chat shrugs. “I might just try detransforming, like you suggested.”

“Sure!” Marinette says. “In that case, I’ll just go back downstairs—”

“You can stay,” Chat says, before he realizes what he’s saying. “I…I mean…you can’t look, but…”

_But I’m not ready to be alone quite yet._

“Are you sure?” Marinette asks.

Chat smiles. “I trust you.”

“Okay.” Marinette lets go of Chat and turns around, covering her eyes with her hands. He instantly feels colder without her touch. “Go ahead. I won’t look.”

Taking a deep breath, Chat murmurs his detransformation phrase. A swirl of magic erases his suit, replacing it with the bomber jacket and jeans he’d been wearing earlier.

Plagg hovers in front of him, mouth open, tiny fangs gleaming. He points to his maw expectantly.

 _One second,_ Adrien mouths. He feels too exposed without his suit—as if speaking one word will somehow give away his identity.

He pulls a plastic container from his jacket pocket, then grabs a piece of camembert and holds it out for Plagg. Plagg sucks it into his mouth like a vacuum, then noisily chews, a few globs of cheese dotting his face. When he’s finished, he licks the remaining cheese away with his pink tongue, eliminating all evidence.

“Sorry,” Adrien says, hesitantly. “I, uh—there’s a…recharging process….with cheese…”

Marinette giggles. “Sounds like it. You’re really devouring it, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Adrien says. “It—it’s a creature that—ugh. Never mind.”

“I’ll have to start leaving out cheese for you.”

Even though Marinette can’t see him, Adrien rolls his eyes. “I’d prefer pastries.”

Marinette hums to herself. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Stupidly, Adrien feels compelled to hug her from behind—to drape himself over her, and nuzzle his face against her neck, and hide up on this balcony for the rest of his life.

Sure, the surface area isn’t that big. But he would be happy.

He’s being silly, though. He can’t have a life like this. Walls strung with fairy lights, and spaces full of plants and flowers—cozy chairs with a view of the river—basking in sunlight, cuddling in pajamas, eating pastries, sharing jokes.

Marinette can have that. Marinette _should_ have that.

Adrien won’t.

He tries to keep the tears at bay this time—but his breath still hitches when he inhales, and Marinette turns slightly, still covering her eyes.

“Chat Noir?” she says. “Are you okay?”

“It’s stupid,” Adrien mumbles. “I just wish I had a place like this balcony where I could…I don’t know. Be less miserable.”

“You can come here.”

Adrien shakes his head. Plagg’s glowing green eyes are fixed on him, his head tilted to the side, giving no indication of what he thinks about Marinette’s suggestion. “You don’t mean that,” Adrien says. “I’m dangerous. I…”

“If the worst you do is break one of my pots, I don’t think you’re that dangerous,” Marinette says. “I mean it, Chat Noir. You’re welcome here. And I’ll make sure I bring food next time.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

“Maybe you do,” Marinette says. “Maybe you should stop telling yourself you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve things.”

Adrien stares at the back of her head. He wonders what would happen if she turned around and saw who he is. Would she find it creepy, that he singled her out like this? They’re just classmates, after all. They’re not close friends.

“I don’t know if I can do the right thing,” Adrien says. “I’ve never been good at standing up to my father.”

He still doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. Marinette is his _classmate._ He’s supposed to ask her what yesterday’s homework assignment is—not ask her how to oppose his supervillain father.

Marinette’s shoulders slump slightly. “I can’t help you face your father. But I do believe in you.”

Another round of tears pool in Adrien’s eyes, blurring and fragmenting the balcony lights. Even his own father—who repeatedly sends Adrien to fight against Ladybug, and always demands that he excel in everything—has never seemed to believe in him.

“C-can…” Adrien’s voice wobbles. “Can I hug you again?”

“While you’re detransformed?” Marinette says. “Y-yes? I mean, I can keep my eyes closed…”

Adrien surges forward and wraps his arms around her waist from behind, forehead pressed to her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I’m being weird, but—I’m scared, and confused, and—”

“And you know me in real life?”

Marinette’s voice is so quiet, so steady, that Adrien doesn’t register her words at first. Then he freezes, arms going slack around her. “Y-you—I—why do you think that?”

“You called me Marinette earlier.” Marinette shrugs. “Either you did your research, or we’ve met before.” Her hands rest on his wrists, warm and light, fingers tickling his skin. “And it makes sense you’d trust me more than a random civilian, if that’s the case.”

“I…” Adrien’s mouth suddenly feels too dry. “Th-that’s…”

“I won’t try to find out your identity,” Marinette says. “Whoever you are, I’m glad you trust me enough to talk to me.” She pats his hand. “Hold on. I need to go get something.”

“Food?”

Marinette’s body shakes with a laugh. “I can grab you a leftover pastry. But, no. Something else.” She crawls over to the trapdoor and lifts it. “You can transform again. I’ll be right back.”

Then she disappears below, leaving Adrien alone with Plagg.

“You think she’s cute,” Plagg says, his voice sing-song. “I don’t suppose you’re having second thoughts about your life of supervillainy?”

Adrien blushes. “You’ve never tried to talk me out of it before.”

Plagg sniffs. “I never had ammunition.” Nose wrinkling, he adds, “Get me back into the ring. I hate all these flowery smells.”

Adrien calls out his transformation, and a minute later, Marinette knocks on the trapdoor. “Can I come up?” she calls.

“Yes,” Chat Noir says, standing. “I’m transformed.”

Marinette’s head pops through the trapdoor, and she hauls herself onto the balcony. One of her hands is curled in a fist, and the other is clinging to a brown paper bag.

“Oh, the zipper is fixed!” Marinette says, approaching him. “And you added the bell.”

“I…what?” Chat tugs his zipper down slightly so that he can see it, and sure enough, there’s a golden bell attached to the end of it. “I guess I did.”

Grinning, Marinette flicks the bell. Her smile twists into a frown. “It doesn’t ring.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be very sneaky if I was jingling all across Paris.”

“Maybe I want to know when there’s a cat skulking around my balcony.”

“I’ll knock, I promise.” Chat folds his arms across his chest. “So what were you getting?”

“Well, first,” Marinette says, setting the paper bag on the balcony table. “There are some leftover pastries in here. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I grabbed a variety.”

“Oh, wow,” Chat says. “You didn’t have to, but…thank you.” 

“As for the other thing…” Marinette holds her hand out, fingers uncurling to reveal a string with pink and green beads. The largest one is cloth-covered, with a stitched pattern in the shape of a four-leaf clover. “Here.”

Chat reaches toward it, his claws hovering just above Marinette’s hand. “What is it?”

“My lucky charm,” Marinette says, smiling. “I know it’s not as fancy as one of Ladybug’s, but…I want you to have it.”

“You—you’re giving me your lucky charm?”

“You seem like you could use some good luck. You know, since you’re a black cat and all.”

“Marinette,” Chat says. “I can’t accept—”

“It’s yours!” Marinette says, shoving it against his chest. “Just don’t let me catch civilian you with it, unless you want me figuring out your identity.”

Warmth glows in Chat’s chest as he delicately takes the lucky charm from Marinette. “I…thank you. I wish I had something to give you in return.”

Marinette shakes her head. “That’s not necessary.”

Chat glances at the pile of dirt, ceramic, and plant on the ground. “Maybe a new pot?”

“Oh, no,” Marinette says. “You don’t have to! I have plenty of spares, since I’ve broken pots before. I’m kind of a klutz.”

He’s noticed. In class, Marinette frequently drops notebooks, pencils, erasers—and whenever she slips into the seat next to Adrien with a cup of coffee, his life always flashes before his eyes.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Chat says. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Is that your big plan to redeem yourself?” Marinette asks, her voice teasing. “Buy everyone in Paris a potted plant?”

Chat laughs. “Do you think that would work?”

“Probably not, but it would make for an interesting headline.” Marinette fiddles with Chat’s bell zipper. “My best friend runs the Ladyblog. I’d love to see her face if she had to write an article about that.”

“Well,” Chat says, “if I ever decide to become a hero, I promise your friend will be the first person to get an interview.”

Marinette’s eyes flick up to Chat’s face. “Don’t keep her waiting,” she says, tugging the zipper back up his throat. “She’s a very busy woman.”

Chat finds himself entranced by Marinette’s gaze, her soft blush, the gentle curve of her lips. _Don’t keep me waiting,_ she seems to be saying. “R-right,” he says. “I won’t keep you—I mean…” He swallows nervously. “I’ll try.” He can feel the tips of his ears burning as he slips the lucky charm into one of his pockets. “So, uh…”

He freezes as Marinette stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “Good night, Chat Noir.”

A disbelieving smile tugs at his lips. He’s used to people trusting Adrien and believing the best of him—but never has someone looked at _Chat Noir_ and treated him with such kindness.

There’s no escaping this night, now. Every time he looks at that lucky charm, or passes this balcony, he’ll remember that there’s a girl who believes he can be better.

Without thinking, Chat wraps his arms around Marinette’s slim frame and yanks her into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I—I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

Marinette’s arms wind around him, returning the hug. “I can imagine.”

Chat inhales deeply, breathing in vanilla, fruit, flowers, window cleaner—and then he lets go of Marinette and steps back. “Sleep well, princesse.”

Marinette makes a tiny squeaking noise. “Princesse?”

“Well,” Chat says, as embarrassment scorches his skin. “You said I’m your knight, didn’t you?”

“I—I said you _could_ be.”

“Same thing,” Chat says, with a wink. “Better get inside before you catch a cold. I don’t want to be accused of getting a fair maiden sick.”

“As long as you didn’t drop fleas on my balcony, I should be fine.”

Laughing, Chat removes his baton from his back and extends it. “Good night, Marinette.”

Her name feels reverent on his lips: like a prayer, a promise, a lifeline.

With blue eyes and fairy lights glimmering in his heart, he leaps from the balcony and into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so y’all know, this is a standalone fic! I might write another one-shot in this universe if I feel like it, but I’m not planning to turn it into a multi-chap or a series.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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